


hymn meter / common measure

by MidwesternDuchess



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, anyway welcome to rarepair hours only, god I don't even know what happened this is all Beed's fault, marge simpson voice I JUST THINK THEY'RE NEAT, no I will not be accepting constructive criticism, this is going to be multiple parts because I've lost my whole ass mind
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-07 22:37:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20479115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidwesternDuchess/pseuds/MidwesternDuchess
Summary: "The Sonnet then is a small poem, in which some lonely feeling is developed." –Samuel Taylor ColeridgeIt occurs to him then—belatedly—that just as he is far more complex and intricate than he allows himself to appear, this guileless, Goddess-fearing Kingdom girl could very well be hiding something of her own.Or:Hubert and Mercedes seem to keep crossing paths, over and over again.





	hymn meter / common measure

Mercedes sees, and Hubert  _ sees _ that she sees.

It’s one accident—a fleeting misstep. Ferdinand has Edelgard’s ax hooked across his lance and—with a smirk Hubert will berate him for later—twists his weapon just so to send Edelgard’s ax clattering away, leaving her disarmed as he quickly swings forward, trying to capitalize on her distraction—

Edelgard is already twisting away, retrieving the short sword she keeps at her hip, gracefully sidestepping Ferdinand’s lance, but—she miscalculates, and Hubert abruptly sees the thrust for what it truly is, a  _ feint _ , as Ferdinand is suddenly cutting upwards—

Edelgard turns on instinct, arms coming up to guard her face though Hubert knows not even  _ Ferdinand  _ would be stupid enough to land anything but a glancing blow against the Imperial Princess, and sure enough—his lace never strays that far, as Ferdinand seems to content himself with an insubstantial strike against one of her raised arms, just grazing her uniform—

Edelgard’s sleeve tears under the lance point—a clean slash straight up the fabric—allowing it to fall open and reveal—

There’s a flash of deathly pale skin littered with even paler marks—crisscrossing silver strokes that shine in the light of the training grounds—and for a moment everything seems to  _ stop— _

Then Edelgard’s scrambling to take hold of her crimson cape and yank the mantle closer, gathering it around herself like a shroud to cover the sliver of skin, the barest hint of panic lighting her eyes.

Hubert is immediately assessing the situation—the training grounds are fairly empty, with only the Blue Lion swordsman practicing footwork in the corner, which can hardly be counted as he is all but a  _ fixture _ of the place, the bespectacled archer from the Golden Deer restringing a bow beside their gloomy, soft-spoken mage, both clearly unaware of anything happening around them, and—

Mercedes von Martitz. Doe-eyed and delicate as ever, sitting demurely on a bench beside the arena, looking for all the world as though this is the most natural place for her to be.

She doesn’t catch Hubert’s eye—not straight away, and he tracks her field of vision to see her peering at Edelgard’s exposed arm, and Hubert feels his stomach clench—

Edelgard is hissing something at Ferdinand, who looks several shades paler than usual and has his hands up in uncharacteristic surrender, looking rather taken aback by the results of his own actions, which is  _ not  _ so uncharacteristic, and Hubert is going to  _ kill him— _

Eyes on him then—Hubert’s neck prickles with the sudden weight of an unaccounted gaze—and swings his head back to see Mercedes looking right back, appearing exceptionally unborthered for someone who very nearly bore witness to a  _ murder  _ and who might yet still if Ferdinand doesn’t  _ fucking  _ ** _leave—_ **

Putting Mercedes out of his mind, Hubert stalks forward, careful to post himself at Edelgard’s exposed arm, concealing the tear in her uniform and prompting her to relax, if only fractionally.

“A conversation better suited for the barracks, I believe,” he remarks darkly, cleanly cutting off whatever nonsense Ferdinand is blabbering, and Edelgard nods once in stern agreement. She too takes a quick look around the arena, but little has changed—the Kingdom swordsman is still preoccupied with his own self, and the Golden Deer pair are lost in their own world consisting of bowstrings, and, he assumes from what he has observed from their House, absolute useless nonsense.

He gives Ferdinand a solid push to get him moving—nothing violent, but enough to know that it very well  _ could _ be, if he doesn’t get a damn move on—and he stumbles out of the training grounds, Edelgard striding after him, cape fluttering from her opposite shoulder. Noticeable, unfortunately, but easily explained away to anyone who would question it. Anyone, at least, who had not seen it happen first-hand—

Hubert glances over his shoulder as he leaves, casting one last look at Mercedes. She seems preoccupied with the fraying edges of her shawl, and has apparently dismissed the entire affair that occurred before her in favor of fussing lightly with the fabric, brow creased in concentration.

.

.

.

Putting Ferdinand in his place is easy—an activity Hubert is so well-accustomed to he could doubtlessly perform it without conscious thought, but where is the fun in that—and easing Lady Edelgard’s troubles is as easy as assuring her no one at the training grounds saw what happened.

He has told worst lies in his day, certainly, and after his next task, if all goes well, it will hardly be a lie in the first place. He is—as necessitated by his station—very, very good at convincing people of what they have and have not seen.

So it is with supreme confidence Hubert finds Mercedes several hours later—her schedule was almost pointlessly easy to acquire, her redheaded companion all too happy to point out the girl’s more common haunts despite the fact that Hubert is, frankly, a complete stranger and his only explanation for needing to know her whereabouts was a vague lie about returning some lost item—and approaches her quickly as she steps out of the dining hall, still wiping flour from her hands onto the hem of her skirt, looking faintly distracted as she goes.

He closes the distance in a few long strides—she’s a terribly short thing, he muses—and neatly corners her against a row of bushes lining the edge of the courtyard and the stone wall separating them from the gazebo grounds.

“Mercedes,” he greets her evenly, arms folded rigidly at his back.

“Oh, Hubert,” she smiles up at him, and he searches for a telltale sign of nerves—a tightness at the corners of her mouth, panic in her eyes, some sort of stiffness standing out about her shoulders—but he uncovers nothing. She carries the softest countenance he’s ever encountered. It unnerves him, slightly.

“I’m sorry, had I known you were looking for me I would have finished much sooner.” She holds her hands clasped daintily at her waist, like every damned painting he’s ever seen of a holy woman, and he finds he’s dully annoyed at the sight. Another puppet for the Church. How marvelous.

“It is no trouble, Mercedes,” he tells her, because it isn’t—he made himself aware of her schedule the moment he decided to seek her out and knew precisely the best time to intercept her—and frowns when she seems genuinely relieved at the news.

Another smile—for what reason?—and she tilts her head to the side just slightly, like she’s examining him at another angle so as to better see something. He dislikes the notion, but finds he has no right to ask her to stop, and resolves to suffer her soft gaze.

“Well, that’s good then,” she says, still smiling faintly, and Hubert is beginning to feel he is missing some sort of private joke, though Mercedes does not strike him as the jovial kind, like other members of her House. She is a steadier, more substantial sort. “What can I do for you?”

He bristles on instinct—he has not needed a favor from anyone in years, and he certainly would have no reason to call upon Mercedes’ skills, whatever those might be—but bites back a retort. He’s already wasted enough time just by being here.

“Today, on the training grounds,” he tells her, voice clipped and sharpened the way it should have been from the start. The way it should always be. He expects her to flinch—she does not. “You saw something.”

Mercedes finally  _ does _ frown—but only in thought, it seems—brow puckering as she apparently tries to recall that afternoon.

“Well, I suppose so. I saw quite a few things today at the training grounds.” She tilts her head again, hands coming up—one cradling her elbow, the other tapping a slender finger against her cheek—and Hubert finds himself inexplicably drawn to the action for the  _ briefest  _ of seconds before snapping his eyes back to hers. “Could you be more specific, please?”

He strains to catch some note of humor in her voice—a sly smile, a flash of mischief, any indication that this is a  _ game _ to her—but finds only the most genuine of emotions. He thinks he would have preferred the former.

He dares to step closer—they are already closer than they should be, two students of opposite Houses, opposite walks of life, certainly opposite dispositions, the kind of disparity that draws the eye—in order to better tower over her.

Mercedes doesn’t even blink.

“You saw,” he says—she tilts her head again and he has to forcibly recall  _ exactly _ what it is she saw as her expression smooths back to one of serene indifference—“Lady Edelgard’s scars.”

He inspects her appearance—determined not to let a single twitch of emotion slip by him—but all she does is…seem to cave in on herself. Hubert watches, idly bothered, as Mercedes’ shoulders curve unmistakably inward, her entire self seeming to shrink before his eyes as she gathers her hands up in the mantle she wears ‘round her shoulders.

“Yes,” she murmurs back, and all the softness in her voice has melted to sadness, and Hubert just stares down at her, bewildered—

Mercedes says, “They looked awful. Painful, I mean. And old too, which is the most terrible part.” She shakes her head, staring unhappily at some point past Hubert, who has to physically restrain himself from turning to see where the hell she’s looking so as to possible gain some insight.

“You…yes.” He clears his throat. Remembers himself. “They are quite old, though that is none of your concern.” He makes sure to pitch his voice as coldly as he can, hoping the sudden chill will jar her understanding, but instead, she only reaffixes her gaze to his, and offers another smile.

“Yes, I figured you’d say something like that,” she tells him, almost sounding…teasing? He frowns, scrambling to place her tone before she continues. “That’s why I didn’t do anything.”

He lifts a questioning brow—an asinine gesture he regrets the moment it happens—and Mercedes smiles a bit wider.

“Of course, I would have loved nothing more than to go to her and try and help,” she tells him, pausing and allowing Hubert a brief moment to appreciate how such a scenario would have ended, which is to say,  _ very very badly  _ for all but Lady Edelgard, which is how most of his scenarios play out.

He frowns when she declines to continue. “But?” he prompts, impatient. Already he has wasted enough time here—are all Blue Lions so lax and lethargic?

Mercedes then lifts a hand to her mouth, eyes sparkling as she laughs softly behind her fingers. It is without a doubt the most singularly  _ girlish  _ act Hubert thinks he has ever borne witness to. It reminds him—vaguely—of one of Dorothea’s flirtatious acts, but Dorothea’s eyes never seem to shine the way Mercedes’ are now—not unless she’s talking to Lady Edelgard, which Hubert can hardly find fault with—

“But, it’s very obvious that Edelgard is a private person, and clearly has her own reasons for keeping such things to herself.” She lowers her hand then, fixing him with a look of serene contentment he cannot believe he has done anything to deserve. “I doubt she would want a stranger meddling in her affairs, which is very much her right, of course. And besides—” Her smile is back, and it only draws a deeper frown from Hubert “—she has all of Black Eagle House to look out for her, and I’m certain you all keep her as healthy as a horse.”

Hubert is—despite his best efforts—rather caught off-guard. Ignoring Mercedes’ decision to liken Lady Edelgard to a horse (though something tells him she’ll laugh about the analogy when he tells her later) Hubert fixates on what he deems to be the more concerning issue: Mercedes isn’t asking any questions. She has not expressed an  _ iota  _ of curiosity towards the scars, or their origin, or Edelgard’s near-obsession with keeping them hidden. A million inquiries have presented themselves before Mercedes von Martitz, and she appears to have pushed every single one of them aside in favor of gentle concern.

It makes his hackles rise in a way he is not at all pleased about.

Silence unfolds between them, and Hubert forces himself to break it.

“Very well,” he tries to gather his air of intimidation back around himself, wonders when he lost it in the first place. He narrows his gaze to settle squarely on her own, ensuring to fix her with the darkest stare in his repertoire.

“If news of Lady Edelgard’s injuries ever makes its way to any other student—if I hear even the barest  _ whisper _ of gossip surrounding what you saw today—I care little if it is with a professor, a guard, the archbishop herself, or even your very dear Lion Prince—trust that I  _ will _ know and there  _ will _ be consequences.”

He leans back a bit, dully pleased with himself until he realizes—Mercedes hasn’t moved. And it doesn’t seem to be because she is frozen in fear, either, she’s simply...standing there.

His threat peeters off, and Mercedes just cocks her head neatly, looking up at him like she’s patiently waiting for her turn to speak.

He frowns. Harder.

“Perhaps I have not made myself clear,” he tells her crisply. “Less delicate things than you go missing in places like these all the time—believe me when I say that disposing of you would be absolutely no—”

“Hubert,” her interjection is so gentle he nearly speaks right over her, before dutifully snapping his mouth shut. She graces him with a small smile. “Please. We don’t have to play this game.”

He keeps his expression expertly schooled, even as panic spikes in his pulse. “I was unaware we were playing any such game, Mercedes.”

Her smiles holds. There’s a maternal air to her, of course, that much is obvious. But just beneath...Hubert frowns. He cannot shake the feeling there’s something more.

“Edelgard is a princess—a noble of the highest degree. I understand that nobles have secrets, and that very bad things tend to happen to those who try and root those secrets out.” There’s such a stark sense of  _ patience  _ to her tone, like she’s calmly explaining some arcane equation and not laying the dark politics of nobility bare before him. That damned head tilt again—what is she searching for, when she looks at him like that? “Even if I had some great nefarious plan—which I think we can both agree is rather unlikely—I know better than to try and act on it.” A serene smile, calm as you please, as she tugs lightly on the blue-ribboned shawl about her shoulders. “I’m rather attached to this wrap, you see, and I’d hate to see it stained with blood. Rest assured that I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that.”

Before Hubert can even begin to try and cobble together an appropriate response to that, Mercedes is laughing again, mouth hidden behind splayed fingers.

“Or, I suppose in this case, dead over my morning tea. Poison does seem to be the tool of choice in circles of high nobility, as I recall.”

She settles back into herself, contently wrapped up in her delicate little half-cape, calmly awaiting his response.

Which is a pity, because Hubert suddenly finds he is rather out of any retorts, and only his upbringing keeps him from openly staring, his mind turning over itself as he scrambles to piece together exactly what the  _ fuck _ has transpired here—

“von Martitz,” he realizes, feeling unspeakably stupid. He should have noticed earlier—put two-and-two together the way he’s  _ supposed  _ to—but he has his hands full with the still  _ noble  _ nobility, thank you very much, he had not considered the threat of fallen, disgraced nobility, particularly from what he had assumed was a guileless, blindly faithful girl from Faerghus. A more incorrect assumption, Hubert doubts he could make if he tried.

Something sparks in Mercedes’ eye at the sound of her family name, but when Hubert looks again, it’s already gone.

“von Vestra,” she counters, not a whisper of malice in her tone. She offers another smile—he still cannot find anything false in it, and it is driving him absolutely mad.

The silence returns—slightly shaper than before, edged with something prickly and thorny and  _ just _ on the tip of Hubert’s tongue—but he lets it lie. He has—as stated—wasted enough time here, and has already misstepped more wildly that he ever cares to again. He has research to do, old nobles to question, family histories to unearth.

He offers a courtly bow. “Very well then. If we have an understanding, I will leave you.”

Mercedes nods, but does not answer with her own curtsey, and Hubert is still turning that fact over in his mind as he’s moving to leave, striding away—

“Oh, and Hubert,” Mercedes calls, prompting him to glance over his shoulder with an expression carefully fixed so as to not betray his curiosity.

She smiles again, and—Hubert blinks, turning to face her properly, frowning because—is her smile…just a touch—?

“I’ve seen you watching Dimitri,” she says, and only years of discipline keep Hubert from jolting. Her tone could hardly be lighter, and yet, he can almost taste the steel in it as she continues, “I know you don’t care much for him—I don’t particularly care why, I imagine it’s none of my business—but, please understand that if anything should ever befall him…”

She steps forward then—Hubert’s reflexes order him to maintain a tactical distance, but pride has him rooted to the spot—as she moves to stand close enough to be uncomfortable, if Hubert were the kind of person who gave a damn about his own personal comfort.

“If anything befalls him…?” he prompts, voice not revealing a single shred of his inward alarm, because he’s a damned professional—but Mercedes just lets out a smile, abnormally sharp, and maybe a little too tight.

“Then just know that I’ll be looking for you first,” she informs him, reaching up to gingerly correct the irregular fall of one of his uniform’s tassels before pulling her hands away, never even touching him. Her head falls back into that side tilt, assessing him at an angle. Hubert suddenly feels exposed. “And we wouldn’t want that, right?”

She offers him an affectionate look—the way one might regard their favorite horse—before turning to make the trek back to the Blue Lion barracks, leaving Hubert alone in the courtyard, heart hammering like he’d just fought off an army, watching the swish of that blue ribbon tied at her back as she goes.

**Author's Note:**

> ANYWAY HIT UP [@JDSIDHE](https://twitter.com/jdsidhe) FOR AN EXPLANATION FOR HOW I GOT HERE BC THIS IS 100% ON THEM THEY PITCHED THIS PAIRING TO ME KNOWING IT WOULD DESTROY ME AND THEY DID IT ANYWAY!!!!! AN IRRESPONSIBLE USE OF THEIR POWERS FRANKLY!!!!
> 
> so hi this is obviously like a stupidly rare variety of rarepair I fully expect no one to read this but too bad it's here forever now and I'm already working on a part two
> 
> I just feel like they have a lot of stuff to talk about given their backgrounds and idk Mercie doesn't take anyone's shit and is def not afraid of fucking Hubert like she's twenty-fucking-two at the start of the game she's so tired from all of this teenage drama and sees through everyone's bullshit and have you heard her dialogue if you have her face Annie post time-skip like Mercedes goes _so hard_ like yes she's kind and gentle but she'll pop off at a moment's notice and LISTEN I JUST THINK THEY'RE NEAT OKAY
> 
> please come validate my feelings towards this ship by yelling at me on twitter [@reduxwriter](https://twitter.com/reduxwriter) or read the rest of my FE fic [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=fire+emblem&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=1&commit=Sort+and+Filter&user_id=MidwesternDuchess)
> 
> have a good day kids <3


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